Pietà
by aK
Summary: Inspired by Michelangelo's sculpture; Mary, mother of Jesus, witnesses His crucifixion.
1. Default Chapter

**_Pieta_****__**

(Inspired by Michelangelo's _Pieta_)

Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched the scene unravel before her. It had all started the evening before. It had started with a kiss. Then everything had started to fall apart so fast.

They'd taken Him and tortured Him-mentally, physically. They'd thrown false accusations at His face, mocked Him, but He did not defend Himself. His words were only the truth, if He did not speak at all.

Then they'd grown impatient. Filled with rage, they'd beaten Him and scourged Him. At the end of it all, it was as though the heavens had rained blood. His flesh was torn, ripped from His bones. His face, bruised beyond recognition.

She'd wanted to run and comfort Him, to clean His wounds as she'd done when He was a child. But as she winced when they pierced His brow with a crown of thorns, His eyes showed no anger, nor hatred, but filled those who saw with a peace that passed all understanding, a love for those who were only doing what they were told.

Following Him on the way of sorrow, she'd struggled to keep sight of Him. Feeling her legs grow weak as her heart filled with despair and sorrow watching Him labour under the weight of the cross. Many times He'd fallen, too weak for any help to do any good, but He'd carried on in determination to face His death. She just wanted Him to save Himself. She knew He could do it.

As she watched them hammer the nails into His hands and feet, she let her tears fall freely. Then she wondered as she helplessly watched them place a support beneath His feet.

"Why do they do this?" she asked the disciple beside her desperately.

He turned to her in despair, his own eyes filled with tears. His answer was a whisper, "To make Him suffer longer."

Her heart broke. Jesus, why do You not do something? You who made blind men see and even raised the dead. Your blood flows like a crimson river. Show them Your glory, restore Your kingdom. Why, my son, why?

His breath grew shorter as the daylight faded, but the light in His eyes did not dim. They looked up to the heavens, and their light grew strong. Then He looked at her, her eyes meeting His through a veil of tears. He smiled at her ever so faintly, and then He spoke, "Woman, behold your son!" She started at His words, but as she saw His gaze shift to the disciple whom He loved, and as she heard Him command, "Behold your mother!" she began to understand.

No, He was not her son. Not any longer. She could no longer protect Him or cure His wounds. She must let Him go. He did not need her sympathy. He was the fulfilment of the prophecies, and she had fulfilled her purpose in them. Indeed, He was the Son of all present that day, of all who had ever and ever will live. Even of those who never would. He was the Son of man. More than that, He was the Son of God.

Then a cry came from the hill and all fell silent. The two on either side of Him looked in wonder and awe as He pleaded. "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?"

The people started to panic as the sky grew cloudy. The frail body on the centre cross seemed to glow with an unearthly radiance as His chest rose and fell heavily before with a loud voice, He cried, "It is finished!" and yielded up His spirit.

Chaos and panic reigned as the graves opened and the earth shook. There was no more doubt. "Truly, this was the Son of God!" cried a centurion as many fled.

But she stayed, with Mary and John at her side. They stayed until the evening had come and Joseph of Arimethea had arrived.

Together, they took His lifeless body from the cross and for a brief moment, she held Him again, as she had the many times He'd fallen asleep in her arms before. But He was no longer her little boy. He was a man, a perfect man who had sacrificed Himself for her sake. She thought her world was falling apart, but things were really falling into place. It was finished, all was done.

Then she let them take Him. She knew it would not be long before He ascended to the heavens and came back for her. Then they would all be together again, at the feet of their heavenly Father.

**Standard disclaimers apply**

Notes : Looking it up, I found that 'Piet' means sympathy, and this story was inspired by Michelangelo's sculpture of the same name (more like a picture of it). Certain parts were also inspired by the crucifixion scene in 'Jesus: The epic miniseries' (the 'standard disclaimers' statement is just in case). Godspeed…**__**


	2. Revised version

**_Pieta_**

(Inspired by Michelangelo's _Pieta_)

Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched the scene unravel before her. It had all started the evening before. It had started with a kiss. Then everything had started to fall apart so fast.

They'd taken Him and tortured Him-mentally, physically. They'd thrown false accusations at His face, mocked Him, but He did not defend Himself. His words were only the truth, if He did not speak at all.

Then they'd grown impatient. Filled with rage, they'd beaten Him and scourged Him. At the end of it all, it was as though the heavens had rained blood. His flesh was torn, ripped from His bones. His face, bruised beyond recognition.

She'd wanted to run and comfort Him, to clean His wounds as she'd done when He was a child. But as she winced when they pierced His brow with a crown of thorns, His eyes showed no anger, nor hatred, but filled those who saw with a peace that passed all understanding, a love for those who were only doing what they were told.

Following Him on the way of sorrow, she'd struggled to keep sight of Him. Feeling her legs grow weak as her heart filled with despair and sorrow watching Him labour under the weight of the cross. Many times He'd fallen, too weak for any help to do any good, but He'd carried on in determination to face His death. She just wanted Him to save Himself. She knew He could do it.

As she watched them hammer the nails into His hands and feet, she let her tears fall freely. Then she wondered as she helplessly watched them place a support beneath His feet.

"Why do they do this?" she asked the disciple beside her desperately.

He turned to her in despair, his own eyes filled with tears. His answer was a whisper, "To make Him suffer longer."

Her heart broke. Jesus, why do You not do something? You who made blind men see and even raised the dead. Your blood flows like a crimson river. Show them Your glory, restore Your kingdom. Why, my son, why?

His breath grew shorter as the daylight faded, but the light in His eyes did not dim. They looked up to the heavens, and their light grew strong. Then He looked at her, her eyes meeting His through a veil of tears. He smiled at her ever so faintly, and then He spoke, "Woman, behold your son!" She started at His words, but as she saw His gaze shift to the disciple whom He loved, and as she heard Him command, "Behold your mother!" she began to understand.

No, He was not her son. Not any longer. She could no longer protect Him or cure His wounds. She must let Him go. He did not need her sympathy. He was the fulfillment of the prophecies, and she had fulfilled her purpose in them. Indeed, He was the Son of all present that day, of all who had ever and ever will live. Even of those who never would. He was the Son of man. More than that, He was the Son of God.

Then a cry came from the hill and all fell silent. The two on either side of Him looked in wonder and awe as He pleaded. "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?"

The people started to panic as the sky grew cloudy. The frail body on the centre cross seemed to glow with an unearthly radiance as His chest rose and fell heavily before with a loud voice, He cried, "It is finished!" and yielded up His spirit.

Chaos and panic reigned as the graves opened and the earth shook. There was no more doubt. "Truly, this was the Son of God!" cried a centurion as many fled.

But she stayed, with Mary and John at her side. They stayed until the evening had come and Joseph of Arimethea had arrived.

Together, they took His lifeless body from the cross and for a brief moment, she held Him again, as she had the many times He'd fallen asleep in her arms before. But He was no longer her little boy. He was a man, a perfect man who had sacrificed Himself for her sake. She thought her world was falling apart, but things were really falling into place. It was finished, all was done.

Then she let them take Him. She knew it would not be long before He ascended to the heavens and came back for her. Then they would all be together again.

**Standard disclaimers apply**

Notes: This is a revised version of the story. The original one had some theological errors of which I apologize for. Some quotations are taken from the NKJV. Happy reading and to God be the glory.


End file.
